


Twenty-Six Times

by wordslinger



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: F/M, I'm trying to be artful though, Idk whatever, Jerza smut, shameless shameless smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 18,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9358034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinger/pseuds/wordslinger
Summary: Twenty-six mini smut fics from a list I found on tumblr. No plot. Just porn.





	1. Chapter 1

_**Fire, flames or excessive heat** _

* * *

 

There was a rustle of sheets and a flash of red. Curls tumbled over her shoulders and between her breasts. A glimpse of white when she smiled and a dash of pink on her cheeks. Whether it was the heat of the fire or him, he didn't care. Either was fine.

Flames cast shadows over the folds of sheets and under the curve of her breast. His fingers grazed the crease of skin. She reached behind herself to touch his thigh. Her back twisted elegantly and the angle filled his palm with pliant flesh.

She moved backward and slid onto him easily. He watched her lips part and eyes close. Her skin glowed with a film of sweat. His fingers dug into the soft skin of her waist as he lifted her off him to press his chest against her back. The rush of breath from her mouth when he entered her again brought a grin to his lips.

His fingers grasped the curls of her hair splayed over the sheets. The kisses he left along her spine brought the downy hairs of her arms to attention. And his pace – merciless. Just below the slick place he entered her was a perfect swell of thigh – and his fingers found their purchase.

She pushed backwards but his grip on her hair tightened. Her breaths took on a staccato that punctuated every thrust of his hips, every swirl of his finger tips.

“Please,” she whispered.

He smiled and gave her the pressure she begged of him. She trembled and tightened and his hand slid upwards from between her legs, leaving a trail of pleasure. Her head pressed backwards against his shoulder as his thumb traced her jaw.

The flames were lower but still bright. Her hair clashed with the sheets. She rolled to her back and brought him into a kiss that tasted of sweat. There was nothing more beautiful. _Nothing._ He watched her eyelids flutter closed and traced a pattern into her hip. It would disappear when she bathed, of course, but he couldn't resist.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Under cover of darkness** _

* * *

The pills in the bottles rattled against one another as she dug through the basket. He'd told her a hundred times the bottles needed to be moved to the cabinet in the bathroom, but she was slow to make the change. The cabinet had been built specifically for her but the bottles still lived in a basket on the kitchen counter. Her fingers brushed over a ribbed cap and she sighed in relief. She wouldn't have to turn on the light after all.

With the bottle in one hand and the heel of her other hand pressed against the child-proof cap, she pushed and twisted. The cap clicked five times before she tried again – and again. She huffed and growled. Even as an adult woman, child-proof lids still exceeded her skill level. Her fingers curled around the bottle tighter and just before she flung the thing back into the basket – and resigned herself to a headache – a pair of hands covered hers from behind.

His chest was warm against her back. He didn't take the bottle from her but, instead, repositioned her grip and twisted the cap off expertly. She let out an exasperated grunt and felt him chuckle behind her. Her head tilted backwards as she finished off a glass of water along with the pill – and fell the rest of the way back to his shoulder when she finished.

Two sets of fingers slid through her hair and along her scalp. He pulled the hair tie free and she felt his lips against her her ear.

“This bun is why you get headaches.” His breath was warm. She shivered.

“It's not that bad today,” she whispered, relishing the feel of his fingers on her scalp. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders and his hand slid across her collar bones, anchoring her against him.

“Your stubbornness never fails to amaze me.”

“Good,” she said with a quiet laugh. “Because it probably won't ever change.” His fingers brushed the line of her jaw and he tilted her chin to the side. She saw his lips curl into a grin just before he kissed her.

The air was warm and her skin prickled only at his touch when he slid the only thing she wore – a nightshirt – over her head. She whirled around and held tightly to his shoulders as he lifted her to the very edge of the kitchen counter. The swell of her backside would keep her balanced just so – but the bulk of her weight rested on his forearms. He preferred it this way – he always had. His love of control _thrilled_ her.

His arm muscles bunched and stretched as he gripped her thighs and pushed them apart. She bit her lip when his eyes fell between her legs. Her finger traced the lines of his chest and abdomen, not stopping until the waistband of his pajama pants. She hooked a finger in the elastic and tugged. He shifted from the shadows into the moonlight.

In the space of one breath, he let her release the drawstring of his pants. In the space of another, he moved between her thighs.

She gasped when his fingers dipped inside of her and gasped again when the tips circled over and around her. Her knee bent over the crook of his arm and without warning he filled her completely. Rather than hearing, she felt his groan of delight against her chest. He left kisses along the curve of her neck with every thrust. When he took her mouth, her eyes slid closed.

He was never gentle in the kitchen. The living room was for sex. The bathroom was for impulse. Their bed was for making love – but the kitchen? He fucked her in the kitchen. It was her _favorite_.

His kisses were fierce and would likely leave her lips swollen and pink. His fingers dug into her waist but she knew he'd kiss every bruise with a reverent gentleness. She hitched her leg higher and quickly balanced herself with a hand planted on the counter behind her. Pill bottles spilled everywhere when her thumb caught on the edge of the basket. They rattled and rolled across the counter, into the sink, and to the floor. He didn't miss a beat.

When she regained balance, he released her waist and finished what he'd started. His fingers worked a pattern of chaotic pleasure. Her breaths came fast and erratic. Twice, he brought her to the very edge before dragging her over. He yanked her forward and into his chest for his own climax. She felt every pulse. Without urgency, she kissed his right shoulder, his left shoulder and every space in between.

He pulled away and the rush of warm air stirred their mingling sweat that lingered on her breasts. His smile was breathtaking in the moonlight. She often wondered if he understood how beautiful he was – the answer was always no.

“How's the headache?” he whispered, peeling damp ropes of scarlet from her shoulders and neck.

“Gone.” She smiled and leaned into him again. “Tired though.”

He helped her from the counter and laughed quietly when she kicked two pill bottles from underfoot.

“We'll put those in the new cabinet tomorrow.”

“Did you distract me with kitchen sex just to make a point about the bathroom cabinet?”

“No,” he said, taking her hand. “That was just a bonus.”


	3. Chapter 3

_**A moment's respite** _

* * *

 

One second he was writing and the next... he suddenly wasn't. She'd plucked the pen from between his fingers so skillfully that he didn't quite grasp what had happened until the words stopped appearing on the page. With a click of the button – he thought it very considerate of her to not waste the ink even if she _had_ interrupted his work – and the flash of a grin, she seized his attention.

“I think that's quite enough for one evening –” her voice fell silkily on his ears and her fingers carded through the rumpled mess of his hair. “ _Chairman_ Fernandes.”

“I'm not even close to being finished,” he protested weakly. She had no interest in his excuses – _she never did_ – and he loved that she didn't apologize for simply _taking._ Right after left, her knees slid between his thighs and the arms of the chair. His hand inched its way beneath the hem of her nightgown to find not a single stitch of anything beneath. He groaned in equal parts frustration and interest. “I have a meeting first thing in the morning and I have to finish –”

“You can finish _me_ first, Chairman,” she whispered against his lips. There was no room between them for negotiation and her fingers on the buckle of his belt made her intent crystal clear. She smiled, brought her hand to his neck, and tilted his chin upward. Her kiss was lazy but not without insistance. The fabric of her nightgown was unforgiving and he had to leave her hip behind to tug a strap down over her shoulder. When his hand closed around her breast, he felt the vibration of her approving moan against his lips.

“I want you,” she murmured.

“In my office?” he teased with a grin as she worked to free him from his pants.

“Wherever.” Her grip on his cock was firm and she wasted no time availing herself of him. She was wet and hot and _absolutely divine_ – but her pace was entirely too fast. He flattened his palms against her hips and dug his fingers into the silk. A frustrated noise came from her throat and he kissed the slope of her neck and in the dip of her collarbones. Her head fell backwards and tips of scarlet brushed over his wrists and thighs. In the low light of his office the curling tendrils of his favorite color appeared almost blood red.

He guided her into a slower rhythm and dropped his eyes down between her legs to watch her envelope him over and over. The muscles of her thighs flexed beneath smooth expanses of skin as soft as the silk that whispered over her body as she moved. Suddenly she pressed herself against him and her teeth sank into her bottom lip.

“Touch me,” she whimpered. The satisfaction that came from her request twisted the coil of pleasure sitting low in his belly. He watched her eyebrows furrow as his thumb drew a hundred loops of circles just above where he entered her. She came with a gasp and his name on her lips. Her hands worked their way into the collar of his shirt, stretching the buttons, and her fingernails pierced his shoulders.

His own climax teetered on the edge and her breaths fanned over his face. Impulsively his hand closed around her exposed breast and he brought the pink tip of it into his mouth. Her skin tasted of sweat and it was enough for him to finally spill into her.

When she pulled back and stood, her inner thighs glistened. Her nightgown fell from the bunch around her waist and she covered her breasts again before reaching up and twisting her hair into a bun. She smiled before leaning down to kiss him goodnight.

“Come to bed soon,” she whispered even though they both knew he wouldn't likely join her until just before sunrise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> present tense shipwreck ahoy.

_**Subtle kindnesses** _

* * *

 

****She loves him for all the _big_ reasons. He _always_ thinks of her first, and though he's brought her to tears on more than one occasion, he's never done so maliciously. He folds the blankets and towels without being asked, he always soaks the greasy pots after dinner, and never leaves the toilet seat up. Even when he thinks her wrong he stands behind her. He frequently asks for her thoughts and _g_ _i_ _ve_ _s_ _her credit_ for successes. And in exchange for letting her drape her body over his as they sleep – or read or watch movies or sit in one place for more than five minutes – she lets him have his fill of her hair whenever his fingers stray into it (which happens a lot).

But there were also _small_ reasons. Reasons she keeps a running list of in her heart. He always makes sure there's strawberry jam in the kitchen and the sweet butter she likes on toast. The tin of tea never sits empty and even on her worst days – days when everything has gone wrong and she's come home soaking wet from unexpected rain because she hasn't bothered with weather reports _again_ – he has a smile and a kiss for her. The way his fingers brush over hers when he passes her a cup of something hot never failes to sooth her frayed edges.

He tells her her loves her. She knows, but he still likes to tell her. He hadn't been able to tell her for _so long_ that now he never stops. For _herself_ , however, she likes to _show_ more than _tell._

There is a spot just below his jaw she likes best. She knows if she kisses him there and brushes her fingers over his cheek, she'll feel his dimple deepen. One hand will slip into her hair and the other will invariably settle on her waist.

Sometimes he needs to be on top. When his dreams have been dark and violent or when he's reminded of times when he had less control – he needs to feel the air on his back. His hands behave as if they own her but they do not. She gives him what he needs to feel safe. There are some chains that can't ever be broken.

But on the nights when the sky is clear and the stars pin back the darkness, she slides over him. He doesn't rush her when her knee lands beside his hip and sinks into the plush sofa cushions. She takes her time undressing them both – magic and sex don't mix for them. There is something special about buttons and loops coming apart one by one.

She takes his hand and guides his fingers between her legs. He knows the way but lets her take him there. Her breaths come in gasps and she never appreciated how quick of a study he really is until finally pulling him into her – their – bed. She melts into his chest and leaves a trail of wet kisses along his neck, gently scraping her teeth as she comes. He groans when she grabs the erection that lays at full mast against his belly. With the swipe of her thumb and swirl of her hips he is nudging her entrance.

The last of her patience is gone and she sinks down onto him quickly. She moves in a pattern that only _seems_ erratic. In truth she's stoking his fire – not that he needs it, of course. His trigger can be pulled with only minimal effort on her part but when she seduces him on the couch, he knows it's not about him. She takes from him freely and without apology, but she also craves the palms of his hands on her skin. She wants his mouth and she wants his marks.

Her hips slow to an almost painful sway. He whispers her name and she smiles. His hands find her hips and he pulls her against him to hit the place inside of her she can't quite reach without his help. When his name falls from her lips it isn't quite a whisper. Her pitch raises a notch when his thumb finds her so slick and wet he drags her over the edge in two revolutions.

She is still throbbing around him when her lips take his messily.

“You went for the extra credit,” she breathes against his lips. He smiles and slides his hand over her breasts to the slope of her neck.

“It was selfishness on my part.” His fingers slide into her hair and she relaxes against his chest.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” He relaxes into the cushions and enjoys that he is still inside of her. “You're always softer after you come but when I get that spot inside and touch you, it's something else.”

She props herself on his chest and gazes into his eyes for a long moment before smiling. “I don't want anyone else but you to know these things about me.”

“I guess it's a good thing I came home, then.”

“It is.” Her arms fall across his chest and she sighs.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha I don't know where this came from.

_**Sharing a drink** _

* * *

 

****

“What did you order?” she asked sliding back onto her stool and smoothing the short hem of her dress over her thighs.

“Scotch, neat.” He poked at the lowball glass with his finger.

“How shocking,” she said dryly.

“I'm a predictable guy.” He grinned and reached for the glass but she beat him to it. She took a sip and eyed him from over the edge. When she returned the glass to his napkin, there was a lipstick imprint of her bottom lip on the rim.

“Classy.”

“I prefer it to the ostentatious cocktails you like to order,” he said, still grinning.

“I like my drinks sweet enough to drown out the taste of the liquor.”

“Then what's the point?”

“I still arrive at the same station as you, just with a better aftertaste on my tongue.”

“Is that so?”

She leaned toward him and her lips curled into a smirk. “It is.”

* * *

 

Her collection of perfume bottles rattled when her ass landed on the surface of the dresser. He slid the zipper halfway down her back before giving up and hastily pushing the edge of her skirt up around her hips. The straps of her dress fell limp over her shoulders, exposing the black lace cups of her bra. His hand closed around the edge of her matching panties and he almost – _almost_ – pulled them off. Instead, he hooked his finger over the strip of fabric that ran between her legs, tugged it to the side, and grinned.

The sound of her fingernails clicking against the buckle of his belt, and the whisper of his pants falling open around his waist paired well with her gasp when his fingers found her already wet.

“Don't tease me,” she whispered as she tore at the buttons of his shirt. He worked a hand under the back of her dress and jerked her to the very edge of the dresser top.

“Better hold tight, then.” The sound of her breathy squeal when he drove into her, sent a twitch of pleasure down the length of him. She didn't swear often but when she did – she was _filthy._

Her thighs were so incredibly soft but they held him in a firm death grip. Yes, he was in the dominant position but it was she who kept him there.

_“Yes,”_ she gasped. _“Fuck,_ yes!” He grinned and brushed his lips over hers. “Goddamn it, harder, I want –” He silenced her with a bruising kiss. She tasted of whiskey and it turned him on like nothing else.

A curl of heat settled low in his belly, and his grip tightened on her backside. She arched her back, the black lace catching his eye once more. Her fingernails grazed across the back of his neck and his eyes fell between them. Her panties were still held back by his thumb and he watched himself disappear into her over and over. The motion was mesmerizing. It wasn't until her fingers came into view and she touched herself that he had to catch his breath.

She clenched around him and he yanked her against him once more to finish himself. Her breath was the same burning flavor as the scotch.

“Classy,” she whispered just before kissing him lazily.


	6. Chapter 6

_**An absent look or touch** _

* * *

 

__She never thinks to be the type of woman who enjoys a man's touch on the small of her back or her elbow as she enters a room. The concept of being led anywhere by a man infuriates her. She doesn't need to be led, she wants to _lead._

Except that the first time his fingers brush over the base of her spine, she likes it.

_Love_ _s_ _it._

The house was been hers before he arrives on her doorstep tired and wet. Assuming to place his hand anywhere on her person to lead her into a room that belonged only to her not hours before, jars her. Even more jarring? How much she wants him to do it _again_ and at _every_ doorway in the house.

The longer he stays, the less appalling it becomes. Out of all the ways he touches her, his palms remain her favorite. They fit perfectly over her hips when he pulls her into his chest. There is nothing more comforting than his palms on her cheeks when she is upset. When they slide from her waist to the swells of her backside, she knows what comes next. He is wonderfully predictable.

His palms are capable of much more, though. They bring her to the ragged edges of desire and hold her there. All across the continent he is renowned for magical prowess. His hands are feared and respected – but when his palm settles low on her belly and his mouth whispers the most delicious words she'll never hear between her thighs, she can't imagine anything more powerful.

Her mind pulses with chaotic pleasure when his fingers press up and his palm presses down – his tongue never stopping. His name falls from her lips in gasps and sighs. On his way to her mouth he kisses just below her navel, under her breasts, and her jaw. His palm settles on her cheek and his eyes are smiling. She turns her head and kisses him there.

With every brush against her back she feels the magic in his palms. Even if the moment is fleeting and his thoughts are elsewhere.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Fist fight_ **

* * *

“You're an idiot,” Erza scolded. He winced as she dabbed the already swelling skin around his eye and lip. Though her tone was biting, her touch was gentle.

“I'm sorry, Erza, I –”

“Stop speaking.” She studiously ignored the way his eyes softened they way a puppy's might. They followed her every move, only closing when she attached the butterfly suture just above his eyebrow. Her fingers brushed over the crack in his lip. “I think you'll be okay if you keep ice on it.”

Jellal, very wisely, didn't say anything when she took his hand and led him into the kitchen and filled a baggie with crushed ice. She wrapped the icepack in a rag and handed it over with a pointed expression.

“I'm having a shower now. Take a pill and try not to mess up your face any more than you already have.” Erza stepped around him and the kitchen suddenly felt very cold. Jellal squeezed the icepack, held it to his mouth, and groaned in pain. Water dribbled down his chin to his shirt when he tried to knock back the pills.

In pain and frustrated – with himself more than anyone else – Jellal relaxed into the couch and tried to focus on something nice instead of his banged up face and bruised ribs. Erza in the shower was a nice fantasy but the memory of her angry face ruined it. She had every right to be mad at him. Not only had the fight been grossly out of character for himself but it wasn't necessary.

A hand closed around his wrist and pulled the icepack away from his face. Erza had changed into a nightgown – one he liked very much. She shape of her was very clear beneath the whisper thin fabric. Including the new swell on her middle. He watched her as she inspected his face and moved to peek at the bruises forming under his shirt.

Erza sat back on the edge of the sofa and flicked her hair out of her face. He wanted to touch it but also didn't want to lose a hand.

“Why?” she asked sharply.

“I don't suppose you'll take _'It doesn't matter'_ as an answer?” Erza scowled and Jellal couldn't help but smile – lopsided as it was. The pain pills were finally working. “Did you know that I love you?”

“Why, Jellal?” She shook her head in confusion. “Did Laxus start it? I expect this from Natsu but not you! _What happened?”_

Jellal felt himself sink deeper into the couch cushions. He replaced the icepack on his face and closed his eyes. “There was a guy who had a big mouth. Laxus had nothing to do with it.”

_“A big mouth?”_ Erza demanded.

“Yep and he didn't know how to shut it. So I helped him out.”

“Jellal –” Erza smoothed the hem of her nightgown which cut off at mid-thigh. “I have to know what prompted you to assault someone.” He felt her eyes on his face again. “I'm also curious what kind of guy would be able to land so many hits.”

“A big one. He'll have a worse looking face than me, though.”

Erza sighed and lifted herself to perch on his legs. She leaned forward to kiss the corner of his mouth that wasn't busted and bruised. He opened to speak but she pressed a finger to his lips. She dropped kisses on his jaw and his neck before sliding down between his legs to kiss the bruised spot on his chest.

Her fingers hooked into the waistband of the pajama pants she'd thrown at him after finding him in the shower with a fucked up face, and tugged.

“Erza –” He said weakly. “You don't have to –” Her glare shut him up. Exactly how safe was it to let his angry, pregnant wife suck him off? Jellal decided not to ask himself that question and instead let his shoulders flatten against the cushions as his hand found the strands of her hair draped over his thigh.

Her tongue ran over the length of him before her lips closed around the head. Jellal felt Erza's hand slide over his thigh and through the trail of short hairs below his navel. His stomach muscles twitched painfully, irritating the bruises, but paired with the sharp sting of her fingernails he gasped in surprised pleasure. Erza's hair felt like the softest silk in his hand and her mouth was even better. When she took him to the back of her throat and hummed, his head spun in a dizzy circle.

Twice he popped from between her lips and felt the cool air – both times the sensation sent a shiver down his spine. He almost – _almost_ – bit his lip. One of her hands closed around the base of his cock and she squeezed. The pressure was too much and she swallowed every drop.

Her lips were bright red when she stood and leaned over him. Tendrils of scarlet brushed his shoulders and through his fingers. Jellal knew he had a stupid grin on his face but couldn't find any fucks to give about it. She kissed the corner of his mouth again but when he reached for her waist, she caught his hand in an iron grip.

“Do you feel more relaxed now?”

“Yeah,” he muttered half drunk on post-orgasmic bliss and pain medication.

“I hope so.” She unhanded him and abruptly pushed away. “Because you're sleeping on the couch. I don't want you bleeding on the pillow cases.”

Jellal was left with his pajama pants around his ankles, a dull throb in his face and torso, and a grin that was now decidedly more confused than blissful.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Someone's greatest fear** _

* * *

The rain nearly succeeded in making the roads impassible – but not everyone was Jellal. He didn't hesitate to careen past the pot holes and dangerous troughs of fast moving river water. Every window in the house was dark except for one.

His muddy boots squelched on the floor but he prowled through the hallway without concern. Jellal's hand shook as he gripped the doorknob and inched the room open. The curtains were drawn and tiny blue stars were cast across the walls and ceiling by the turtle-shaped nightlight on the edge of the bed. He heaved a deep breath and stepped into the room. A small lump under the blankets rose and fell in a steady pattern. His fingers brushed over the downy hair just a touch darker than his own.

Breathing. Alive.

_Safe._

A pair of hands tugged gently at the collar of his cloak. Jellal barely noticed the loss as his shoulders were freed of the wet wool. When she returned, her warm fingers slid through his and he let her pull him from the room. The door clicked shut and she gazed up at him with worry but also understanding.

“The beast was caught,” Erza whispered. “He wasn't anywhere near the house.”

“I –”

“Natsu and myself handled everything.”

“But –”

“Asuka was with the children.” Her grip on his hand tightened and she guided him down the hallway into their room. Jellal's terrified expression didn't fade even as she discarded his shirt, unbuttoned his pants, and pointed at his feet. “Leave the boots.”

Erza disappeared into the bathroom. Sounds of rushing water filled his ears and the scent of jasmine wafted. Jellal finally remembered to remove his boots. He found her on the edge of the tub waiting for the water to reach the top row of tiles. When the tub filled, she shut off the faucet and stood.

“Are you going to bathe in those pants?” she asked.

“Erza –” He still could not shake the fear in his heart. She sighed and pushed the pants down over his hips.

“You're cold and the wrong kind of wet. Please just get in the water, Jellal.” With a resigned sigh, he stepped out of the pants and into the hot water. His body shuddered at the sudden temperature change but he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

The tub had been his personal gift to her after the renovations. Erza had been pregnant at the time and Jellal hated to see her suffer with uncomfortable back pain. In an unexpected show of emotion, she'd cried when he revealed its installation. After their son had been born, he hadn't stopped congratulating himself on the decision to opt for the larger size tub.

Erza's hands slid over his chest and shoulders, and her knees came to rest on either side of his hips.

“He was never in any danger,” she whispered, running her fingers through his hair. Jellal found her waist with his palms and exhaled slowly.

“Everything I heard was third-hand. I –”

“Panicked?”

“Yeah.” He wanted to laugh off his behavior but couldn't bring himself to do it. Erza pressed her body against his and kissed him once softly but followed up with more force. She smiled against his lips when his hand slid over the swell of one breast.

Jellal let go of his mind and lost himself in the warm, jasmine scented water and the feel of Erza's skin on his. Her fingers found his stiffening erection beneath the water and her mouth fell into an O as she fit around him like something perfectly tailored. Everything was hot and slick. Gentle waves framed her breasts and she grasped his wrist when his thumb circled a pink nipple.

Falling strands of scarlet stuck to her neck and shoulders and Jellal didn't bother to peel them away before pulling the curve of skin into his mouth. Erza whimpered but didn't change her pace – if she wanted to take him fast and hard, she wouldn't have lured him into the tub. Her hands suddenly lifted from the water and caressed his cheeks. Her eyes pierced him and he saw the horrors she would never voice.

Erza had been afraid, too.

She kissed him with a violent, bruising force and he absorbed every drop of her unspoken fear. Jellal squeezed her hips and lifted her to the angle she preferred. Her hands planted on the tiles behind his shoulders and Erza focused.

Her climax came in an exhilarating gasp and the final tumble of her hair. Rivers of scarlet floated on the surface of the water as she fell against his chest. Jellal grit his teeth and didn't even try to pull out. He could feel her heart beating and when it slowed, she smiled and kissed him as softly as she had when they'd first begun.

“It's been a long day,” Erza whispered.

“It has.”

She stood and the water sluiced from her body. Damn if he didn't want her again. Erza smiled and bit her bottom lip.

“Bed, Jellal.” Erza left him in the bath and it took him all of five seconds to pull the plug, grab a towel and seek out his wife in bed.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Broken glass_ **

* * *

 

She wakes to the sound of tape being pulled from a roll. The room is dark but for the flashes of lightning forking across the sky – even the face of her digital alarm clock is blank.

“What are you doing?” she asks with a voice still slurred from deep sleep.

“Well –” Lightning flashes again and she can see the muscles of his back flex as he presses the tape across a visible crack in the window. “I'm just trying to make sure we don't wake up in the morning covered in glass shards.”

“You're so thoughtful.”

“I do try.” He turns to grin at her and his teeth all but glow in the backlight of the storm. His arms stretch wide to pull one final strip of tape from the roll and he hisses as his fingers run along the length of it. _“Fuck.”_

“What is it?”

“It's nothing.”

She sighs and swings her legs over the edge of the bed. The bathroom is dark but the first aid kit is easy to find. He is sucking on his finger and watching the rain pelt against the fortified window when she returns. When she pulls his hand from his mouth, he grins again.

“Are you going to patch me up, Nurse Erza?” he asks. “You're out of uniform for that.”

“Be nice or I'll let you bleed to death.” She inspects the cut as best she can in the darkness. It's deeper than she expects and spans the width of his finger pad. With a sigh, she digs in the bag for a disinfectant wipe.

“You have an appalling bedside manner,” he says inching closer to her and hooking an uninjured finger in the waistband of her panties.

“Do you always sexually harass medical professionals?”

“Is that what you are? A _professional?”_ His lips fall to her neck and she ducks away.

“I'm your first line of defense against an infection. Stop trying to distract me.” Her fingers are still in the first aid bag and she is irritated. How do they manage to keep such a badly maintained emergency item? Finally she grasps what feels like a packet containing the disinfectant wipe, but is actually a cream for insect bites. She huffs and tosses the back rudely onto the surface of the dresser. “Hey,” he whispers, kissing her cheek.

“What?” she asks, leaning into him finally.

“It's fine. I won't bleed to death.” He holds up his finger. “See? It's stopped.”

“But –” He takes her lips quickly and eases the band of her panties further down. She doesn't stop him and divests him of his own shorts.

When she pushes him down on the bed, his face lights up briefly and she sees the dimple she loves most in his left cheek. His fingers dig into her hip as she settles over him. Her hand closes around his cock and – as usual – he doesn't need to be warmed up. Without warning she eases down and enjoys every inch.

His eyes are wide and never leave her body. At some point the tangled bun on the top of her head falls over her shoulders. She is unsurprised that his hand finds its way there. His teeth cut into his lip when she reaches between her own legs and helps things move along. Her hand grasps the wrist still at her hip and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Erza –”

“Hm?”

“My finger,” he gasps. “It's – there's blood on you.” She heaves a sigh and takes his hand. The air is too hot for her to feel the chill on her skin but a flash of lightning reveals the blood seeping from his finger.

His eyes glint in the flash and she takes the finger into her mouth. Her tongue presses against the cut and she can taste the copper of his blood.

“Erza,” he bites out between clenched jaws. _“Fuck.”_ She doesn't smile or slow or do anything but ride him mercilessly. The hand in her hair clutches at her waist and his hips thrust up. He swells and throbs and she can feel the instant he finishes – but does not stop until her belly twitches in delight. Even though he is soft, and ready to pull out, she doesn't move. Instead, she pops his finger from her lips and licks the tip. His chest trembles and she grins.


	10. Chapter 10

_**When words aren't enough** _

* * *

“Do you think of me?” she asks casually even though the question isn't casual in the slightest. She waits as he tugs off his boots and loosens all the fasteners of his clothing. She hates asking. She doesn't want to wear him out more than he already is but still.

_Still._

“You're _all_ I think about,” he replies softly. His undershirt is dirty and clings to his back. Summer is his least favorite. He says he doesn't keep as well anymore. It's delivered as a joke but she knows he means it.

“There's – there's not anyone else?” Her voice is hesitant. Unsure. She doesn't know why she asks. There would _never_ be anyone else. He wouldn't consider it. Not the effort. Not the emotional toll. She thinks maybe if she died he would stop taking care of himself and follow her to the grave. This is not a consolation. It is not something she takes as a compliment.

_Years_ she waited, and it never crossed her mind to question his feelings for her. Not even when she wouldn't see him for months on end. Now? She wonders. _Constantly._

“There has never been nor will there _ever be_ anyone else.” Her question hasn't fazed him. He smiles over his shoulder and she smiles too, but she doesn't feel it. Not where she needs to. She drops her gaze to the blanket under her. He would give her anything she asked for but she doesn't know what to ask.

His sigh draws her attention and he leaves her alone on the bed for a bath. Her tears feel foolish. She doesn't want to cry over something so ridiculous.

She gathers his clothes and makes a load of them. Soap is measured and added to the water. A few of her tears fall into the wash, as well. When she turns around, he is there. _Gods,_ he is beautiful. It hurts to look at him.

He crosses the laundry room, still wrapped in a clean towel, and takes her hand. His lips press into her palm and he captures her with an upward glance.

He doesn't speak but takes her wrists in his hands. His palms move up her arms and over her shoulders until his fingertips slide into her hair. He kisses her softly at first but his eyes promise more. Her fingers dance along the freshly washed skin of his arms and gasps when he suddenly drops his hands to her waist and lifts her to the top of the washing machine.

She reaches for the fold of his towel but his hand stops her. He shakes his head and grins as he kneels down to kiss her thighs where her nightgown has ridden up. One foot is balanced on the surface of the washer and the other leg is draped over his shoulder. When his mouth finds her, she falls back against the cabinets.

He's been gone for a month and she hasn't bothered. Now her toes curl and her back arches without her effort. His fingers move inside of her – first one, two, then a third. He doesn't waste time. He never does.

Her breaths come fast and, embarrassingly, she comes the second he applies a steady pressure of rhythm and swirl. She can't quite bring herself back to a sitting position before he's pulling her against his chest. Her eyes are mostly closed and she licks the taste of herself from his lips.

Next, her back falls to the bed and his towel is gone. She's lost her senses. His fingers lace through hers and she wraps her legs around his waist to pull him in. This time he is slower. He kisses her shoulders, her neck, her cheeks, her lips. Her belly and thighs quiver.

He doesn't tell her that he loves her or that he thinks of her or that he's missed her. She knows all of that. He's said it before. Instead, he kisses her and never stops touching.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the messiest, most graphic smut I've written in a while. I was brutally awakened from my slumber this morning at some unholy hour by children who clearly don't understand that I could easily EAT THEM, and when I went back to sleep this is what I dreamed about.

**_On the edge of consciousness_ **

* * *

 

****Erza's hands gather wads of sheets. The folds bunch in her palms and poke from between her fingers in puffs of soft cotton. Her breaths come in ragged spurts. Her back arches up and away from the bed even as she presses downward and _harder_ onto his fingers and mouth.

He laughs softly and her thighs and stomach shudder. Jellal prefers her pink and gasping for breath. A quick swipe of his thumb would push her to fall from a great height but it wasn't enough. He wants her sobbing and shaking balanced on a razor sharp ledge. He wants her to _beg._

She isn't hard for him to figure out. Her need for control is all tangled up in her need to let go. There isn't much he understands _more._ He is the same. Erza lets him take and take and take. She _wants_ him to do it. Even now when her breathless, pleading whispers cry for release, she wouldn't love it as much if she snatched it for herself.

One day she'll realize he's been writing his name with the tip of his tongue over every swell of soft skin between her legs. He doesn't know what she'll do what that knowledge but for now it pleases him to know he's marked her in such a petty way.

Erza sighs and her mouth falls open. She is hot against his lips and his fingers flick and twist. Her thighs quiver and before she can begin to form words her lungs fill with surprised air. He doesn't leave his spot until her breaths are heavy and weighted with relief.

Even though her body is loose with pleasure, she pushes him to his back when his shoulders rise between her thighs. Erza's eyes are half-lidded but her smile is dark and wicked. Sometimes she teases him but this is not one of those times. Today she takes him in her hand and into her body with no preamble. His efforts before are worth it because she's soft and wet and the only thing he wants to feel ever.

She doesn't move except to settle and her fingernails drag down his chest. When she pulls him up and against her, his lips find the spot under her jaw he favors. Erza shivers and he can feel it oh so tantalizingly.

“I want you to take me somewhere,” she mutters, running her fingers through his hair. Jellal's hands rove over her breasts and settle on the curve of her hips and backside. She hums when he adjusts her tilt and throbs inside of her.

_“Anywhere,”_ he whispers, tracing the first letter of his first name on the column of her neck with his tongue. Erza would let him between her legs any day but she had a certain weakness for neck kisses. Her hips rock and he can feel her trying for friction against his chest.

“Somewhere –” Erza's voice is reduced to a gasp. Her hand falls to his thigh and she tries again for the pressure she wants. In a moment he will press her into the bed and fuck her the way she needs but for now, he'll let her try to take it. “Somewhere with lots of sun and – and –”

“And?” he asks, still leaving wet kisses along her neck and shoulder.

_“...Jellal,”_ she whimpers in a high, frustrated tone. Her legs curl around his waist when he takes the upper hand again. He kisses her and moves in and out at a desperate speed. Her fingernails claw at his back and he hitches her leg over his arm.

He's sure words are coming from his mouth but they're nonsensical. Everything is hot and slick and deliciously mind bending. She bites his lip when she comes and he can't stop his rhythm even though he's spent.

Erza's kisses turn pliant and soft. She keeps him against her even when he slips out and wants to collapse. Her eyes are closed and he knows she's at the door of sleep. She never lasts long afterward.

“A vacation,” she breathes. “That's what I meant.” Jellal laughs and kisses the still-pink apples of her cheeks.

“Anywhere you want, love. We'll go there.” His heart rate eases off and he follows her into sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the Critics United narcs on ffn enjoy this particular guidelines violation. I stopped working on a request just to post this smut. Here’s to you catspats31.

_**A stolen kiss** _

* * *

Erza glanced over her shoulder and grinned. He'd finally relaxed against the back of his chair and appeared animated in a way she rarely saw him away from home.

“If you leave, do you think he'll stay?” Mirajane asked, taking Erza's empty cup.

“Maybe.” She left the bar and wove her way through the tables and chairs. When her fingers found purchase in his hair, he smiled up at her. His eyes were just this side of glassy.

“Is it time to go?” he asked, still smiling.

“You can stay if you want, but I'm heading out.” She didn't give him any warning before dipping down to steal a kiss. Her hair brushed the cards in his hands and Jellal blinked in surprise. Erza felt his eyes on her back as she made her way across the main floor and out the front doors.

* * *

The moon was well above the tree line by the time he joined her in bed. He took longer than she'd expected but it's nothing more than she'd wanted for him. Jellal chose to spend his evening with Laxus instead of burrowing in their home.

His kiss on her shoulder was light but the hand that slid over her waist was not. He didn't even try to remove her nightgown. Instead he pulled the edge up around her hips and Erza felt him hard at her back. Jellal's fingers found her naked beneath and, with a hum in her ear, dipped between her thighs.

“I thought –” she cut off with a gasp.

“That I'd come home drunk?” Jellal laughed and moved his kisses to her neck. With much too quick a speed, his fingers slide into her and out again. He grasped her thigh and lifted her leg backward over his knee. Right away he pressed against exactly the right place inside of her. His pace was slow and maddening.

Erza tilted her chin back toward him and let him take her lips at his pleasure. He'd taken his drink. He'd taken his time. Now he'd take her. She took nothing for herself until her arm nearest his shoulder found it's way around his neck and her fingers found his hair again.

He touched her chin and throat as he kissed her before moving downward to her breasts. Erza arched her back as much as possible. In this position she could only accept the touches he gave and when he drew circles and swirls around the place he entered her, Erza's head pressed into the pillows. He smiled against her lips.

When she came, the pleasure burned through her body and she couldn't breathe the same as before. Jellal rolled and pressed her front into the mattress. He whispered beautiful, curling things in her ear. Dimly, she realized he hadn't bothered to pull out at all. Something about that made her want more.

Her thighs were slick with him and he panted into her neck, punctuating his breaths with kisses. Jellal's hand moved from her shoulder down her arm and his fingers slid between hers. Erza had no words. Only sighs.


	13. Chapter 13

_**When it rains/snows/storms** _

* * *

 

****“You smell nice,” he whispered in her ear, sliding an arm around her shoulders. His mug of the mulled wine she'd made herself was already half empty and Erza grinned around the rim of her own.

“Orange peel and cloves, I'd imagine.”

“Whatever it is, I love it.” Jellal set aside his mug and Erza swirled the last of her wine around the bits of cloves.

“You aren't going back out into the snow are you?”

“No. I've had enough of the cold for today.” Erza turned and her mug joined his on the table. Her arms circled his waist and her hands worked their way under the hem of his clean shirt. His back was smooth but she knew the power that resided under his skin.

Jellal lifted her to the surface of their dining table. It was a solid wood affair and had been a wedding gift. This wasn't the first time they'd used it for something other than meals. Jellal pulled her fleece pajama pants down over her hips and let them fall to the floor.

Erza didn't care that the dining room window didn't have dressings. She didn't care that someone could easily see them if they happened upon this particular street.

Her legs rose to hitch around his waist and her arms fastened around his neck. She didn't bother to balance herself because Jellal preferred to have that control – at least for today. He'd spent the morning shoveling snow even as new snow fell from the sky. Futility frustrated the monster that still lurked in his chest but the knowledge that the path would be white again before be could make it to the curb hadn't stopped him from shoveling. Was it the sharp voice in his head that wanted to stop or himself? Sometimes Erza wondered how taught the rope between them stretched.

The muscles that roped around his arms flexed and bunched. His breaths were hot on her neck and Erza took his open mouth in a kiss. Jellal's hand pressed against her lower back and his merciless pace stole the air from her lungs. The shoveling hadn't been enough. He needed to sweat and gasp and clutch.

Jellal covered her shoulder and neck with whispered prayers of her name and the last came as nothing but a feather soft breath. She was still trembling when he gathered her against his chest and moved from the table to the couch. His fingers slid through her hair and she felt the beast roll over on its back.


	14. Chapter 14

_**The color green** _

* * *

 

When his forehead presses against hers, his eyes are always at their brightest. Jellal's eyes are green like magic. They sparkle and glint in a way hers never do. She wants to be lost in them always.

The deep blue of their sheets brings out a fierce tint Erza rarely sees anywhere else. His eyes dig into her even deeper than the fingertips bruising her hips. They coat her skin with something tingly and exciting. When he sits up suddenly, they are wide open and she bites her lip. Jellal kisses her and she sighs.

She barely notices the air brushing over her skin until she is on her back. Her nails will leave a mark but his staccato exhales mean he likes it – _wants_ it. Erza will not tolerate his self harm but she will give him the pain he seeks at her pleasure. His hands slide heavily along her arms and pin her wrists above her head. Her back arches greedily – selfish, greedy, lustfully...

_Green._

_Erza_ feels green. Her body sings and she wants to curl around him but he's too heavy. His weight keeps her beneath him and the way he _takes_ is all she wants. She watches him until his eyelids flutter shut as he finishes.

If asked, Jellal says his favorite color is red. He loves to fill his hands and hide his face in everything scarlet. But she hopes when he looks inside of her he sees the imprint of green.


	15. Chapter 15

_**The stars or space** _

* * *

 

He didn't like sleeping out anymore. Not when he'd tasted the delicacies of a plush mattress and soft sheets. Thirty wasn't exactly _old_ but he didn't feel particularly _young_ anymore either. _Erza_ was young. Jellal didn't like to ponder all the millions of ways she could do better than him.

“You're brooding,” she whispered in his ear. “Is it really so bad to be out here just this one time?”

“No,” he said, stretching out one arm for her to settle on. She smiled and bit her lip in a way he recognized. “Erza –”

“You didn't think I wanted to just _sleep_ out here did you?” Erza's body melted into his and she left kisses along his jaw and neck. She shimmered in the moonlight and her clothes were replaced with something white and damn near transparent.

“I kind of did actually,” he muttered weakly, his stomach twitching as she slithered down his body. Erza dropped more kisses on his hips and her tongue flicked out to leave a wet trail from his navel to the waistband of his pants.

“That was your mistake.” She pulled her hair over one shoulder and grinned as she made quick work of his pants. Jellal didn't have _any_ thought to stop her. To be at the mercy of Erza Scarlet was the only aspiration he had left in life – well, _that_ and possibly raise her babies while she did scary things with her swords.

She licked him from base to tip before taking him all the way into her mouth. Jellal's fingers first dug into the blades of grass before finding the plush softness of her hair. Erza hummed and every inch of his skin tingled. Her fingertips slid through the trail of short hairs that led to her lips. Just before he felt like he might be on the edge of finishing, she sat up and grasped his cock in her hand. She positioned herself over him and inched downward.

There was something about Erza in the moonlight. She glowed. Jellal grasped her hips and smoothed out her movements into an even sway of back and forth. She smiled at him and leaned down for a kiss before her fingernails dug into his thigh. He watched as she brought herself to a gasping climax. Erza reached behind to adjust her weight and the new angle paired with her rhythmic clenching pulled a deep breath from the bottom of his lungs.

Jellal didn't need for his eyes to be open to see the stars.


	16. Chapter 16

_**While driving or in/around a car** _

* * *

She knew the magical vehicles weren't his favorite. Jellal wasn't used to plodding along. The way his gaze strayed beyond the cab betrayed his annoyance. In all likelihood he was mapping out a hundred different routes if he were to use Meteor... _right now._ Or maybe at the next junction. Or even the next tuft of wildflowers. He itched at the cuff around his wrist and Erza finally hummed a laugh.

“Am I so obvious?” he asked with a grimace.

“You are.”

“Sorry.”

“You're free to drive if you want. I don't mind.”

Erza did actually mind. Jellal had more magic to feed into the vehicle but she was a much better driver. _Everyone_ knew Jellal had a lead foot. In any other circumstance she'd have driven only herself and let him tear about the countryside on his own. However, for this particular trip, she'd requested his company.

“I'm in the best place for me, Erza. We didn't get the extra insurance.” His grimace turned wicked. “I'd rather not shame the guild with a speed related mishap.”

“How about a break, then. We'll stop and eat and you can get stretch your legs.” Erza pulled off the road and helped Jellal pull the cuff off his wrist. He moved to grab the door handle but she quickly slid into his lap and grinned.

“Do you think we could have just a few more minutes in here?” Her fingers fell to his belt and her lips to his. Jellal's hands found her hips under her skirt. There wasn't a whole lot of room for maneuvering but with some skilled handiwork Erza freed him from his pants and availed herself.

Jellal's head fell backwards against the rest and she took the opportunity to latch her mouth onto his neck. His fingers dug into her hips and kept her movements from falling out of time. Jellal never liked to rush. Despite being easy to seduce into bed – or anywhere – he preferred to work her into a trembling mess before truly letting go.

Yes, Erza was technically on top. Yes, she'd been the initiator. _Yes_ , it was her mark on his neck... but Jellal had the upper hand in the cab of the vehicle. Her hips moved in a rhythm of his making and when his hand slid from her backside to between her legs, she let him steer.

Erza's eyebrows drew together and she sighed against his lips. A low groan in his chest rumbled against her body as he throbbed inside of her. She kissed him until his pulse slowed.

“Hungry?”

“ _Starving.”_

* * *

Never one to be accused of under-packing, Erza had all the makings of a full meal. As she catalogued and returned everything to her requip space, Jellal fell back into the grass. He sighed deeply and reached for her hand. Erza settled into the space next to him and closed her eyes.

“Thanks for stopping,” he said, turning his head and hiding his face in her hair.

“I know you hate the MV's. We can stay here tonight. Our destination isn't too far off.”

“It's not,” Jellal mused. “I've already calculated it out. If we stop now and get back on the road at sunrise, we'll arrive by midday.”

“You're so clever,” she teased, kissing the mark she'd left on his neck.

“Just impatient.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sick and stuck with writers block for almost two weeks now. It's very frustrating. Today I'm out of bed, though, and hopefully this was a warm up for another project (not the original short I posted yesterday. Something entirely new). Keep an eye out! :)

**_One missed call_ **

* * *

 

She'd been against the trip. Why did _he_ have to be one to go? Why did he _always_ have to be the one? She'd begged him and thought that would be enough because Erza Scarlet did not beg for anything ever.

He'd kissed her and gone anyway. He'd promised he'd call as soon as he could but he hadn't. Erza checked the face of her phone almost hourly. No missed calls. _No missed calls._ The words made her want to cry.

Dark magic guilds popped up all the time but were easily stamped out. Usually. This particular group put up a fight. There'd been talk of sacrifices and Erza could _feel_ the change in the air that hung around her husband. Jellal was warm most days but as the reports came in he quickly cooled. She understood. Of course she understood. Dark magic was offensive enough but dark magic paired with _sacrifice?_

For the first time in three days Erza didn't take the phone with her into the bathroom for a shower. The sound of the ringer didn't reach her ears until the last cycle. She stood dripping with tears and soap staring at the missed call notification. The number hadn't come from Jellal's personal phone. She knew the number to be out of Era. The Magic Council.

Erza panicked. There would be no reason for someone on the Council to contact her unless... _unless._..

* * *

 

The shower could be heard from the front door but there was no steam billowing from the bathroom. He found her on the floor of the stall shivering and sobbing. She stared up at him confused and blinking.

“I thought you were dead,” Erza whispered. “They called me and I missed it and I thought you were dead.”

“I'm not dead.” Jellal crouched on the bathroom floor just outside the shower. “I broke my phone and I asked my secretary to call you to let you know I was on my way back.”

“Oh.”

“She should've tried again and sooner. I asked her to call you this morning.”

“Did you zip across the countryside instead of waiting for the train?”

Jellal sighed and reached for the towel on the edge of the sink behind him. He pulled Erza to her feet and blotted her cold, wet hair dry before wrapping her in the towel. She grabbed his wrist harshly and touched the dark circles under his eyes.

“You did.”

“I don't regret it.” He smiled tiredly. “Even if I sleep for sixteen hours now.”

Jellal smelled like one might expect a man who careened at a high speed across long distances to smell. He called it _dirty,_ but Erza called it _travel._ She left his clothes in a pile beside the bed and followed him beneath the blankets.

* * *

 

Erza much preferred warm tiles against her back to the cold. Her legs wrapped around his waist and though he was quite obviously still tired he held her in place. Jellal moved slower than he normally did and kissed her with an urgency that said, _I'm here. And I'm alive._


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exciting news! Freyjabee and myself have a new collab! It's a Miraxus and Jerza leaning yarn. We'd love it if you'd check it out! Link below!
> 
> [Lies of a Lost Girl](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11812242)

_**A deafening sound** _

* * *

 

****The slamming of the front door shook the whole house. It wasn't as loud as the slam when she'd left but it was deafening all the same. Jellal cleared his throat and poked at the meat in the skillet. He was glad he'd opted to make enough for two instead of just himself – he hadn't actually been sure if she'd return so quickly.

When Erza graced him with her company in the kitchen she smelled of lavender and he knew her hair would be a wet, tangled mess. She waited silently for him to push the skillet off the burner and turn around. Her face wasn't a scowl, it was a picture of non-expression. The green bottle in her hand was thrust into his chest and she spun around and fell into a dining room chair.

Erza's leave-in conditioner carried the same thick lavender scent as her bath soap. She didn't straighten her back or make his job easier for him but he supposed the very act of letting him touch her hair was a sign that maybe she wouldn't be mad at him forever. He worked the conditioner through the wet ropes of her hair and followed his fingers with a comb. The second her preferred braid had been tired off with a band, she stood and disappeared back down the hall – and didn't reappear until he'd plated their evening meal.

After his own bath Jellal trepidatiously joined her in their bed. He didn't like ending the day in silence but he'd already learned that Erza's wrath needed to burn itself out on its own. When the room was dark he heard her shift beneath the sheets.

“We don't keep secrets, Jellal,” she whispered harshly.

“Erza –”

_“_ _Stop.”_

Jellal's fists closed around handfuls of the sheets. He wanted to tell her he hadn't meant to keep _anything_ a secret. He'd _meant_ to tell her but with _everything else_ –

“Did you think I wouldn't find out?” Her tone was more hurt than anything and Jellal couldn't take it. He rolled over to face her and found her on the verge of tears she often teetered on lately.

“I don't want to go, Erza. I don't want _any_ of this. I don't like traveling to Era every few weeks to sign papers and attend meetings and I especially don't like long trips overseas.” He paused and reached for the fingers twisting in the tuft of her braid. “It wasn't a secret.”

“But you didn't tell me,” she whispered. Somehow his grasp on her hand had become hers on his. She squeezed his fingers tightly. “I didn't know!”

“I'm sorry.”

“Why is it always _you?”_

Jellal sighed deeply. “Because I went and let them put me in charge.” He attempted a smile. “Maybe I should just retire.”

“You want to be my house husband? I can be pretty demanding.”

“Not quite as demanding as government positions.”

Erza bit her lip and grinned. “Is that a challenge?”

“It's a goal.” Her smile faded and his followed.

“You do good work, Jellal. No one has more relevant experience than you. I'm irritated you didn't tell me you'd be _gone_ for almost a _month,_ but all things considered, I understand.”

Jellal's hand fell to the ever-so-slight bump on her middle. “You'll be okay?”

“We'll be fine as long as you survive the bureaucratic beast of foreign relations.” Erza leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Just come back.”

“I would never not come back.”

He couldn't stop himself from pulling the tie from her hair when she slid one leg over his hips. The damp strands were an almost etherial color in the moonlight. Erza squeezed him almost painfully before availing herself. Usually it was her with fewer points for patience but on this night she moved frustratingly slow.

“We don't keep secrets, Jellal,” she reprised. Her fingers brushed over the short hairs that lead downwards to the erection buried inside of her and her nails left a series of crescent moons in his skin. “Don't _ever –”_ she leaned down to touch the side of his neck with her nose and kiss the soft spot between neck and shoulder. “Not tell me things again.”

When her teeth sank into the flesh she favored most, Jellal's hands clutched at her hips. He got the message.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to Bach's Cello Suites No.'s 1-6 while I wrote this.

**_Music_ **

* * *

He continued through the accompaniment once more from start to finish even after Erza turned the last page of the story book. His fingertips kissed the keys softly but confidently. Jellal didn't need the music anymore, not for this piece. He'd played it so many times he could do it with his eyes closed.

Behind him, Erza whispered to their oldest and he could hear the sounds of shuffling. The pajama covered foot of the littlest one nudged his shoulder and he grinned when Erza glanced back at him on her way to the staircase. She carried the toddler, whose thumb hung limply from her mouth up the stairs and out of sight. Jellal’s hands settled into a new piece of music. This one was almost entirely made up but it soothed his frayed edges to work out the notes. He didn’t notice Erza had rejoined him until he felt her at his back. Jellal inched forward and she perched on the bench behind him.

The music found its own end and as he covered the keys, Jellal found her smile over his shoulder.

“Are they asleep?”

“They are.” She sighed dreamily. “They have been. You’ve been playing for almost an hour.”

“Have I? Why didn’t you stop me?” he whispered, touching the strands of her hair that stuck to his shirt.

“Should I have? There aren’t many things you loose yourself in that are comprised of pure fancy.”

His laugh was quiet and when they stood, he brought her against him.Erza’s hands slid up over his chest and around his shoulders. “The music helps but not as much as you. I’d rather lose myself in other ways.”

The trip up the stairs was quick - the length of time between their bedroom door closing and their naked skin touching, even quicker. In Jellal’s mind, music was a flow of sound much like a river. His fingers skipped over the waves and ripples to create a babbling that drowned out the other noises in his mind. If he could keep the water moving, he wouldn’t have to slow down and see the erosions.

Erza’s body was a whole other type of distraction. If music eased his mind, Erza eased everything else. She was the balm on his soul and every edge of him longed to press against her. She was smooth beneath his hands even when her nails stung his shoulders and back. Erza moved with grace but sometimes that grace was terrible and swift and left him gasping for breath.

Even when she took from him with little mercy, he still gained. She’d taken his emptiness and filled it with not only herself but family. Even now as her thighs squeezed him painfully and she stole bruising kisses without remorse she left him feeling more satisfied than he’d ever felt in his life.

And all the more desperate. She was both the deep, solid foundation of the cello strings and the soaring high of a flute. In truth, he didn’t want her to ever stop the music.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is weird and I'm sorry.

**_An obscure AU_ **

* * *

           “It’s not safe.” She didn’t even look at him. On some level he was grateful. He knew he was a messy. His hair stuck out every which way, his hands shook, and the dark half-moons under his eyes would’ve been alarming.

            “I know,” he quipped. “And I don’t care.”

            Her fingers were red with clay residue. He watched them dig into the wet lump on her wheel and slowly form something that made sense. Not for the first time he wished his brain matter were so pliant.

            _“I_ care,” she snapped. “Or I _will_ care when I get the call that you’ve been found dead in your home, half eaten by feral cats, and covered in your own vomit.” Finally, Ultear glanced up at him. The vessel on her wheel collapsed in on itself and she sighed. “You’re a mess.”

            “I know,” he repeated dejectedly. “I know. But _please.”_

            Ultear’s gaze was sharp but he didn’t turn away. She stood from her table and took, in his opinion, three times longer than normal to wash her hands and wipe them dry. She didn’t speak again as she disappeared into the bowels of her home. He didn’t follow. When she returned she handed over the packet and didn’t hesitate until he moved to take it from her.

            “Jellal –”

            “Do you want me to promise I won’t die?”

            She pursed her lips and let him take the packet. “I’d rather we not start lying to each other.”

* * *

 

            Jellal fell into the sheets and breathed in the air that puffed up around him. Honeysuckle was his favorite. A soft laugh brought a smile to his lips.

            “You should start wearing my body spray,” she laughed. “I think you like it more than I do.”

            “I’d be devastated if you ever changed it.”

            She laughed again and crawled over him to perch on his hips. “Should we add this to your list of known fetishes?”

            Jellal reached up to finger the wisps of scarlet that fell over her shoulders. “I think you’re the list.”

            “I don’t know if I should be honored or insulted.” Erza stretched out on his chest and sighed. She kicked her legs up and crossed her ankles. “You only love me because of my hair and smell. What about my personality?”

            “I love _all_ the parts of you. Even your personality.”

            “What about when I’m in a bad mood?”

            “Even when you’re in a bad mood.” She smiled and the world lightened. “How was your day?” The question was pointless but he wanted to know. He _needed_ to know.

            “The same as any other.” Jellal thought her smile dimmed a little but she quickly recovered. Erza sat up and pulled her nightgown over her head. “Do you really want to know about that?”

            _He did_. “I guess it can wait.”

            Erza’s soft as silk scarlet hair brushed over his chest as she planted kisses all the way down to the waistband of his pajama pants. She removed the pants in a no nonsense way and slid back up and over his body. He wanted her beneath him. He wanted to feel her wrists pressed into the palms his hands. He wanted her to wrap her legs around his waist and squeeze the very breath from his lungs with her thighs.

            But he didn’t do any of that. He knew the rules.

            She moved with a preternatural fluidity. Jellal’s eyes fought to close but he couldn’t let that happen. Erza leaned forward and dug her fingernails into his chest. He grabbed her wrists and held her there. Maybe she’d leave him a mark. He wanted her scars. _Anything._

            _“Jellal –”_ his name fell from her lips and into his ears as a whisper.

            “Erza, _please,”_ he gasped. “Just a –”

            “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

* * *

 

            The teacup sat empty on his bedside table when he woke. His stomach rolled but he swallowed back the vomit.

            Her side of the bed had been cold for months. Jellal didn’t know which would hurt him first. Ultear cutting him off or the nearly empty bottle of Erza’s perfume.


	21. Chapter 21

_**Coming home** _

* * *

 

****

            The streetlights are all she can see beyond the window glass when he strolls in at half passed midnight. His uniform is wrinkled and his rucksack is heavy – she can tell by the way his shoulders sag – but he smiles. She stuffs away a flirtatious impuse and grabs her notepad.

            He falls into a booth bench and sighs. She’s worked and lived in this town long enough to recognize a soldier fresh off a plane when she sees one. Even though he is clearly travel tired, his smile stays true. There’s a menu in front of him but she knows he won’t need it.

            “Coffee, please,” he says in a tone that makes her want to blush.

            “Nothing to eat?”

            “Well, I’d ask for something sweet but I don’t want to bother anyone.” There’s a dimple in his left cheek and she struggles to ignore it.

            “It’s not a bother.”

            “Cake, then.” His smile widens. “Strawberry.”

            “Not a lot of soldiers stroll in here asking for cake and coffee.”

            “I’m glad to be a singularity.”

            She feels her cheeks finally warm and spins on her heel, leaving him alone at the table. Coffee and cake is easy enough. The cook behind the counter doesn’t even look up from his magazine. She cuts the soldier a sizable slice of the cake and fills a mug with black coffee. When she returns to his table, he’s still smiling.

            “That’s a pretty big piece of cake. I might need help finishing it off.”

            She smirks. “I’m sure you won’t have trouble with that.” When she sets the mug down on the table he doesn’t even look at it.

            “No cream or sugar?”

            “I think you’ve got enough sugar in the cake.” In a moment of boldness she winks at him and his eyes twinkle. “Don’t you?”

            “A guy can’t have too much sweetness in his life.”

            A laugh breaks through her attempt at remaining aloof. “You say that now but you’ll wind up a diabetic if you’re not careful.”

            “Maybe I’ll find a pretty nurse to take care of me, then.”

            The waitress rolls her eyes and accepts defeat. She’d never been very good at this game.

* * *

 

            Erza drops her sweater on the stack of textbooks that take up half the dining table. Her sneakers are left in the kitchen next to the fridge. Inside, she finds more than half a slice of strawberry cake. She laughs and scarfs it down in three bites over the sink.

            The pieces of her work uniform are left in an already growing pile on the closet floor – folds of green and brown are covered by the button up shirt that still has her nametag pinned to it. Steam rolls from under the half closed bathroom door and she finds him under the spray of hot water. Despite the obvious exhaustion, he smiles and she rises on her toes to kiss the dimple in his left cheek.

            “Your breath smells like cake,” he says with the same smile that she’s loved since fifteen.

            “If you didn’t like it, you wouldn’t have ordered it.”

            “I missed you.” His lips find hers and he pulls her beneath the spray.

            “Did you?” Her arms wind around his neck and she enjoys his hard body against hers. It’s been weeks. “Are you sure you’re not off flirting with waitresses in cities I’ve never heard of?”

            “I’ve tried it once or twice,” he says, pressing her against the wet tiles. “But none of them brought me big enough slices of cake.”

            “You just want an enabler.” Erza clings to him and crosses her ankles when he lifts her.

            “You caught me.” When he enters her, it’s slow and delicious. “I’m taking advantage of your side job _and_ your future job.”

            Her eyes slide closed and she’s lost in the feel of him against her and _inside_ of her. His kisses land all over the surface of the heart that’s been his for a very long time.

            “I love you,” he whispers in her ear. “I’m sorry I was gone for so long. I’m –”

            _“Enough.”_

            The word finishes his sentence but is also a command. Erza never wants to hear his apologies. She doesn’t fault him for the absences. His hand releases her hip and moves between her legs. When she finishes, it’s a gasp against his mouth.

            “Take me to bed, Jellal.” He blots her hair dry and follows her to the bed that isn’t ever quite made nicely. She doesn’t like being a waitress anymore than he likes being a soldier but they’ll manage. They’ve always managed.

            He kisses her until he’s half asleep. Tomorrow he’ll spend half his day on base and she’ll work her shift on top of a full day of classes but they’ll always have _this_.

            Well, _this_ and the cake.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually a final expansion on my other story [So Late](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10833462). This conclusion doesn't really fit the tone of the larger story and I've chosen to put it here. It's fussy of me but I think a read of So Late might be necessary to understand what's happening here. Heed the warnings on it, though.
> 
> Also! [Lies of a Lost Girl](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11812242/chapters/29281422) has updated! This is a collaboration between myself and [Freyjabee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Freyjabee/pseuds/Freyjabee)

_**An abandoned or empty place** _

* * *

 

Everything smells new. The walls radiate that fresh paint smell he knows will give Erza a headache, and the carpet – though soft – reeks of chemicals. They’ll need to have it cleaned at least once before the move. Even the kitchen has a distinct scent. Not the same as the paint in the bedrooms or the carpet but it lacks a certain quality that hangs in the air of the old house.

Jellal’s hands slide into his pockets as he steps out onto the back deck. The yard still looks like a mangled chessboard. He’s never been a fan of sod but it was better than dirt or waiting years for seeds. His eyes fall to the deck that’s been freshly sealed. The contractor said to wait at least six weeks before staining it. Jellal exhales a long breath when he takes a seat on the top step. He wonders if they’ve moved too fast or if they’re still dragging their feet. Doctor Vermillion would’ve spoken up if she thought them heedless or impulsive and they couldn’t possibly be moving slower than the two year separation wherein he carried on with both another woman _and_ Erza simultaneously.

The sun sets slower than he’s ever noticed before. It isn’t until Febie pokes her wet nose into the back of his neck that he realizes the world has gone dark. A light behind him switches on and Febie bounds down the steps and into the new yard. Erza’s hand moves up his back and around his shoulders as she sits beside him. He can feel her smile before he sees it.

“One more week,” he mutters, his heart bouncing impatiently as it always does when they speak of the move.

“One more week.” Erza presses her lips against his shoulder and sighs. She leans against him heavily. “This is the right thing.”

It isn’t a question and he doesn’t answer. Instead, Jellal reaches over to take her hand. His fingers slid between hers and he leaves a soft kiss on the bent knuckles.

“It is.” He says it with more conviction than he feels. Sometimes he’s sure and other times he wonders. Jellal never pesters himself with the typical questions a man in his position might ask. He doesn’t think Erza is too good for him or even _to_ him. They’ve moved beyond that. Their relationship isn’t so feeble that they still wonder. Jellal and Erza know they’re stronger together than apart. They’ve both soared and tanked. Now they are neither. Doctor Vermillion calls them _level._

And it is that levelness that keeps Jellal from asking the wrong questions. He’s worked very hard to focus on the _right_ ones. The new house is a decision they made together and though the implications are as big as an elephant that takes up more than a corner of the room, he is mostly confident. The parts of him that aren’t so confident get left behind in the office of their therapist.

Erza suddenly stands and tugs on his hand. He follows her into the house and they leave Febie to root around her new yard. Room by room they walk. Four of the spaces are bedrooms. This is the part that makes Jellal’s palms sweat.

“Should we have picked a floor plan with less bedrooms?” she asks, guiding him into the room just past the one that will be theirs.

_“Fewer,”_ he insists with a smile. Erza laughs and the sound alleviates the weight in his chest.

“You watch too much Game of Thrones.” She spins around and her palms glide over his shoulders and around his neck. “I want the rooms,” Erza whispers. “I know you want them, too.”

“I do,” he insists. “I don’t want to wait anymore. What happened before…”

She leans up to kiss him softly. “Was a terrible tragedy that we have moved past as individuals and as a team.”

Jellal brushes wisps of her hair from her eyes and finally smiles. “I love you, did you know that?”

“I think I did, but –” She reaches up to pull the knit hat from his head and tosses it aside. “My love language requires physical displays of affection.” Erza divests him of his sweater and hers joins his on the floor. Her fingers deftly pop the button at his waist free.

“Does this mean I have to makeout with you in public now?” He goes down easy and suddenly the stench of new carpet fades into the background. Erza is soft under him and he thinks maybe this is what it feels like to melt into another person.

He doesn’t remember how they came to be skin to skin but it’s unimportant. The new carpet will leave an imprint on his knees and he thinks maybe _that’s_ important. When he slides inside of her it’s with a sharp exhale and a kiss. Jellal grasps her thigh and holds it against his hip. He drops his forehead to hers and tries to bite back a smile.

She holds him tightly and even when their skin is slicked with sweat and their breaths mingle and the air in the room becomes a fleeting thing, Jellal doesn’t wish for space. Erza’s teeth dig into her bottom lip and he feels consumed by her. Her heels still press into the small of his back and he absolutely cannot comprehend the two years they spent apart.

He doesn’t smell the carpet again until he rolls off her and sucks in the colder night air. The backdoor is still open and Febie’s snuffling can be heard down the hallway.

“We have to keep it now,” Erza breathes.

“What?”

“The house.” She leans over him and kisses him with bruising force. “We’ve marked it.”

“I don’t think we can consider it marked until we’ve covered every room.”

“There’s time for that.” Erza sits up and reaches for her panties. “I think it can wait until we have light bulbs and running water, though.”

“I guess that’s fair.” Jellal follows her lead and redresses himself. Febie waits for them in the living room. She’s stretched out on her side and takes her time getting to her feet. Erza locks the back door and is halfway across the living room and the front of the house when Jellal reaches out to catch her elbow. “Hey.”

She quirks an eyebrow and tidies the crooked way his sweater sits on his shoulders.

“I want the house. I want _this._ I want all four bedrooms.” He searches her eyes and finds what he’s looking for. Erza smiles and wraps her arms around his middle.

“Thank you for telling me. Sometimes I need to hear it.”

Jellal leaves a final kiss on the top of her head and follows her and Febie from the house. Soon it won’t be empty and dark and smelling of new.


	23. Chapter 23

_**Impatiently waiting for something** _

* * *

In all the many, many years he’s spent chasing his own tail in the name of atonement, Jellal hasn’t ever really considered the concept of waiting. He never thought himself stagnant. There’d always been a goal. A place he worked toward. Whether on purpose or simply ignorant, Jellal never thought of what it might be like for _Erza._ Now, as he paced the length of his sitting room and kitchen he felt anxious.

The doorknob jiggled and a gust of cold wind filled the room all the way to the back wall. Jellal’s skin prickled in the chill but he charged forward to greet her anyway. In the split second of a step her armor and cloak fizzled and the woman he gathered into his arms was in nothing but her everyday clothes.

“You’re home,” he whispered into her hair. Somehow it smelled like peppermint.

“Did you miss me?” her question was playful as well as the kiss she leaves on the apple of his cheek.

“I thought you’d be back earlier.”

“Laxus was longwinded and Natsu was belligerent.” Erza pulled back and smiled up at him. “I’m here now, though.”

Jellal took her cold fingers into his hands and tried to stomp out the incredible sense of insecure impatience he’d been steeping in only a moment before.

"You’re here now. Are you hungry?”

“Not really.” She bit her bottom lip and her head tilted to the side. Jellal’s eyes strayed to the falling curtain of scarlet. “Not for food.”

* * *

The air in the bath was thick. Erza sighed and leaned back against his chest. The palms of his hands couldn’t get enough of her skin. He touched her shoulders and arms and wrists and didn’t stop until her palms were against his. Erza turned her head to the side and kissed his neck.

“I miss you, too, you know. I’m not used to it or conditioned to get over it.” She sighed and even her breath was warm in the heavy, jasmine scented air. “Now that I’ve had you, I can’t stand being away from you.”

“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t quite angle his head to whisper in her ear.

“Let’s stop apologizing.” Erza’s hand twisted free of his and found his thigh. He felt both her grip closing around the erection pressed against her back and her lips on his neck again. Before he could form solid thoughts on returning her touches, Erza suddenly slid upwards along his chest and took him inside of her.

Jellal relaxed against the slope of the bath and grasped at her hips. She folded her legs on either side of his and began to move at an almost painfully slow pace. Ropes of tangled crimson stuck to her back and his chest to create a web between them. His eyes were stuck on the red until her hand closed around his wrist. Erza pried his fingers from her hip and guided them between her thighs.

Water lapped and sloshed around them. The steam still curled upward toward the ceiling but Erza was hotter. He felt the difference every time she moved. Her head fell backward and if he were to close his eyes, he could picture perfectly the _O_ of her mouth. She shivered and his fingers took on a new swirl and pattern. His name fell from her lips in a decadent moan.

Without warning Jellal sat up and pulled the skin of her shoulder into his mouth. His teeth scraped against her and he felt the shudder of excitement all the way to the tip of him buried inside of her. Erza grasped at his hair with wet fingers and tugged. He was flush against her back but she still _tugged._ Erza’s climax was a force. Her chest rose and fell and the way she pulsed around him stole his last breath.

The bath was suddenly too hot and the air too thick. Erza spun around and peeled the strands of her hair away from them both. She let him wrap a towel around her and blot his beloved mane of scarlet dry. She even tolerated the way he trailed behind her as she finally ate and turned down their sheets.

He felt the distance acutely until after she pulled the bed sheets up and over their bodies.


	24. Chapter 24

**_A flash of anger_ **

* * *

 

By the time Jellal tucked his daughter into bed, the house was mostly dark. It wasn’t odd exactly, just not typical. He found Erza in their bedroom. She prowled across the room in a nightgown that could only be described as _minimal._ Her hands slid over his chest and her body was warm against him.

“You’re in a better mood,” he said with a grin as he closed the door softly behind him. Her expression held none of the earlier anger.

“Mirajane can gloat all she wants but her kid isn’t stronger, faster or smarter than ours.” Erza’s eyes flashed and her mouth twisted into a wicked smile. “And my husband is much better looking.”

Jellal laughed and filled the palms of his hands with her hips. “So that’s what this is about? Your rivalry with Mirajane Strauss?”

“No, I’d be seducing you anyway.” Erza laughed and worked her hands beneath his shirt. “And it’s not a rivalry. Rivalries are actual competition.” She rose on her toes and found the curve of his neck with her mouth. “Mirajane and I aren’t in the same league. She only wishes we were.”

“I’m sure.” Jellal let Erza pull his shirt up and off, and lead him toward the bed.

“Are you patronizing me?” she asked in a low voice.

“Not at all. In fact, I enjoy whatever it is you two have.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. Whenever you get into it with Mirajane, you come home and take all that pent up tension out on me.”

Erza stepped around him and pushed him into the bed. Jellal fell back against the pillows with a sigh. She perched over his hips and leaned down to press her breasts against his chest. Though they were still covered in whisper soft silk, he felt the heat of her skin.

"You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, kissing him gently.

" _Shameless,”_ he breathed as her hand slid into his pajama pants. Erza’s fingers closed around his erection and she squeezed. Faster than he was truly prepared for, but just as fast as he liked, Erza took him inside of her body and pulled her nightgown over her head. The silk fluttered to the floor and tendrils of scarlet fell over her shoulders and breasts.

Erza’s movements were slow and calculated. His fingers dug into the swell of her hips but he didn’t try to control her movements. Jellal was quite certain Erza understood she controlled his trigger. She could take him fast or at her leisure and it wouldn’t make any difference in how much he enjoyed her.

The determination etched into Erza’s face was magical. Jellal watched her lips part and her chest heave and relished the feel of her thighs squeezing him almost painfully. She pulled him over the edge with her and when she finally smiled down at him he, once again, thanked Mirajane silently for working his wife into such a state.


	25. Chapter 25

_**Tears** _

* * *

He can feel Wendy’s eyes and doesn’t even need to meet her gaze to understand. On any other day he’d stick around for a drink with Laxus and shed the weight of his frustrations before seeking out his wife. Lately, when not working, she could be found at home more often than not. He knows she prefers to keep their efforts private – and chooses not to examine how she might behave differently if things were easier.

The house Jellal shares with Erza sits on the edge of Magnolia. Not as remote as Natsu’s home but outside the city proper. Jellal has spent too much of his life isolated but still appreciates the space from everyone else. Isolation or not, he hasn’t had _nearly_ enough time alone with Erza.

He finds her at the back most window that overlooks the wooded area even further out than their home. The sunset is lost on her. Jellal doubts she even sees it. Her cheeks are damp and she hasn’t bothered to wipe away the tear streaks.

“Erza –”

“Why is this so hard?” she whispers. Red and orange from beyond the window glass sets her scarlet hair aflame.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe it’s me.” Her voice is barely a breath. “Maybe there’s something wrong with _me._ ”

Jellal doesn’t know where to start. How does he tell her she is wrong? His palms cover her shoulders. He pulls the hair away from her neck and leaves a soft kiss at her nape.

“Erza.” His tone is softer than hers but insistent. “Even if this never happens for us, there is nothing _wrong_ with you. Your worth does not begin or end with your ability to carry a child.”

“I feel like it does,” she confesses, finally leaning backwards into him. Her body is cold despite the evening being unseasonably warm.

His forehead drops to her shoulder and he sighs. “You’re more than your uterus.” She chokes on a laugh and whirls around. Her eyes are only half full of ghosts.

“I get so caught up in every false alarm and every false start. I feel like my whole life is boiling down to this _one_ thing.” Erza gazes up at him and he can feel her searching for _something._

Everybody around him is always telling him he’s the best. He’s the leader. He is in charge. He is a magical singularity. But what good is all that when he can’t stop Erza’s tears? Jellal can wrangle the council and smooth over even the sharpest political edges. Now he feels useless. He understands the connection in what Erza is experiencing and his own sorrow but even that is unhelpful.

* * *

Jellal watches the rays of the new day peek into their bedroom from his back. Erza still sleeps beside him. In his head, a million things he should’ve said the night before are ticking by. Why does he never think of the right things to say to her?

The mattress moves and Erza’s hand slides over his chest. A curtain of her hair brushes his shoulder as she rises on one elbow to smile at him.

“Stop,” she whispers. “I can hear you blaming yourself in my sleep.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I was upset last night and that’s not your fault.”

“I should’ve –”

“You should’ve what?” she asks, leaning down to brush her nose against his and leave a breath of a kiss on his lips. “Known the magic words to make me not upset? What was it you were saying about my worth being more than a single thing?”

“That was about _you_ not _me,”_ he says with a small grin. Erza’s leg moves over his hips and she is suddenly on top of him.

“Was it? I feel like it could apply to both.”

His hands fit nicely over her thighs and hips. Her nightgown flutters to the floor beside the bed. Jellal never thinks of sex as a way to conceive a child. Erza hasn’t taken any form of contraception in just over a year and he hasn’t even considering pulling out but _still._ Conception and sex aren’t in the same boxes in his head.

Erza is smooth both inside and out. She is soft and her skin is still warm from sleep. He knows every gasp, every hitch of breath. The sensation of the painful way her fingernails dig into his shoulders and the absolute ecstasy he feels at the peak contradict one another. As he spills into her, Jellal presses Erza into the mattress. He stays between her thighs and inside long after the pounding of her heart subsides.

Maybe this time? He doesn’t know.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end!
> 
> The last prompt was open and this is what I came up with. I've been toying with this particular idea for a while. It's a little weird but I think I like it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**_Make up your own_ **

* * *

 

****

            The chapel was quiet and the moonlight almost didn’t make it through the stained glass windows. Cut panels of white and blue were the most accommodating. Candles still burned in front of the altar despite the late hour and the rows of tiny flames flickered on the deep walnut grain of the wood paneled walls. When every part of his soul cried out for things long gone, he knew peace could be found in the chapel. His days were full and his hands nearly always busy but sometimes it wasn’t enough. Somewhere in the darkest corners of his heart he knew the prayer wouldn’t save him either but he still whispered the words over and over for hours on end. His knees would ache in the morning but the pain would be gentle compared to the loose, ragged, and unhealed wounds in his heart.

            He almost missed the woman in the very back row, half hidden by shadows. On his way through the nave he mentally prepared a traditional holiday greeting and an offer to hear her confession but at the last moment a strand of crimson slipped from the hood that covered her hair and face. His heart nearly stopped. When she looked up at him, he could see her face was stained with so many tears. He hesitated and he hated it. Was it more of a betrayal to hesitate to offer her comfort or to long for the comfort he knew he couldn’t – _shouldn’t._

            “I’m sorry, Father,” she muttered, standing abruptly. “I shouldn’t be here.”

            Before he could think, his hand shot out and grabbed her elbow. “The chapel is for everyone,” he rasped. “I can leave if you’d like.” When she turned, her hood fell back against her shoulders and he could see the tie of her bun barely hanging on. Any second and the mass of scarlet would be free to poke at the places he’d tried very hard to bury.

            “It feels wrong to ask a priest to leave his own chapel.”

            “More wrong than a priest making a congregant in need of peace uncomfortable?”

            Her smile was heartbreaking. “You haven’t changed,” she whispered. “I don’t know if…”

            He released her arm and folded his hands in front of him. “If you have a confession I could make time.”

            “It’s late.”

            “The heavens never sleep,” he offered in an attempt at humor.

            “I – I can come back for communion. I’m sorry to disturb you.” She spun around again and her hair finally fell.

            “Please, don’t go.” He didn’t remember making the decision to make such a request of her but the words hung between them heavily. Every step felt like a struggle but he moved past her and waited by the door. Her eyes dug into him like thorns. He felt the sting in the marrow of his bones when she bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder at the altar. After what felt like an eternity, she clutched at the front of her coat and followed him through the nave.

            Outside the snow piled high alongside the recently shoveled path between the chapel and the parsonage. He didn’t need to look at her to know her eyes would be searching the courtyard and beyond for any passersby. His own eyes were glued to the piles of snow.

            The parsonage wasn’t opulent in any way. Just a kitchen, study area, bedroom, and washroom. He’d lived there since taking over the parish but went out of his way not to leave any personal marks on the home. His heart and soul were damaged enough, leaving a fingerprint on the parsonage felt like a final insult. A fire he’d started before taking a final trip to the chapel still danced in the hearth. The flames caressed her hair and turned the ache in his chest into something vengeful. His traitorous eyes glanced at her left hand. Not a speck of gold could be seen and he felt disgusted with himself.

            “I don’t know what I’m doing here.” Her voice was soft and almost lost to a crackling fire log.

            “I meant to stop by after… well, after –”

            “That was months ago. Please, don’t apologize. Sister Helena was very kind and thorough.”

            “She shouldn’t have had to –” he sucked in a deep breath and gazed up at the rafters. “I seem to be in a state of failure when it comes to –”

            “Me?” she blurted. The accusation hurt but it wasn’t untrue.

            “Yes. Sometimes I wonder if I should be here at all. I owe you more than this.”

            “You’re only a man, Jellal,” she breathed. “After everything, I would never ask you to leave. This is your home, too. It’s me who poisoned the well.”

            “Stop,” he managed around his tight throat. “There’s no blame here, Erza.” _Erza._ He realized he hadn’t said her name aloud in years. “You did what you needed to do.”

            Suddenly her face was as red and angry as the fire. “How can you say that to me? With a straight face, too!” Her hands balled into fists and she stepped toward him. _“I married someone else!”_

            “You thought I was dead.”

            “Don’t you dare put on your placid priest face with _me,”_ she commanded. “Tell me you feel something about it! Anything!”

            The weight of so many unspoken words threatened to force his mouth open but he found he couldn’t loose any of them. His inaction angered her and he found the emotion to be as beautiful as he remembered.

            “You never said a word to me when you came back!” Her voice was high and unwieldy. “You just… said some vows and moved in here and… and…”

            “This is the life I chose for myself, Erza. Men thought to be dead for years don’t have many options.” His reminder was gentle but the pain on her face still cut at him. “I always meant to be a student of scripture.”

            “But not a _priest!”_ she sobbed. “It was like losing you all over again only worse because you were _here._ I could see you anytime I wanted.”

            “You were married.”

            “So _what?”_ her insistence tore at him.

            “Would you have left him if I’d taken up some other profession? Something that comes with fewer rules?”

            Erza chewed her lip and tears welled in her eyes. “I couldn’t have. I made a promise.”

            “I’ve made promises, too. Why are mine more offensive?”

            “Simon is dead,” she said in an unsteady voice. “He was dying when I married him. He didn’t want to be alone. I never loved him I just… I didn’t want to be alone either. It was selfish.” Her words came fast but he had no trouble absorbing them. It was his job to hear them even though the confession booth was a building away. “I wanted _you._ But you came back and sealed yourself away.”

            “Is this your confession?”

            “I shouldn’t have come here.” Erza spun away from him and her hair fanned out brilliantly. Her presence caused him a great deal of pain but the thought of her leaving would be unendurable.

            “Wait,” he said. She stopped two steps from the door.

            “Why?”

            “Because you’re right. I couldn’t stand the thought of you in another man’s marriage bed. My vows were self serving and most days I feel like I’m betraying everyone who’s come before me and every person in my flock.” She turned halfway around and he could see tears dripping from her chin. “I am not a good priest. I wasn’t a good soldier, either.” He laughed softly and glanced up at her. “I did die, after all.”

            Erza crossed the room again and pulled him into an embrace that felt far too personal to be appropriate. She smelled of roses and the myriad of sensations bowled him over. His hands slid through the open flaps of her coat and circled her waist.

            “I’m sorry,” she whispered on repeat into his neck. Her lips brushed his skin and his hands tightened in the fabric of her dress. Erza pulled back only an inch. Strands of her hair stuck to her wet cheeks and her eyes fell to his lips. She waited a moment for him to decide before taking the kiss she wanted.

            Seven years he’d been a priest. For even longer he’d been having dreams of her, some more sinful than others. Was it a sin to dream of another man’s wife lying naked beside him? Now, with her lips pressed against his and his fingers in her hair and the taste of her on his tongue, Jellal decided he didn’t care. Erza’s coat fell to the planked floor of the parsonage. Her hands tugged and pulled on the tails of his black shirt. Her skill with getting at the hidden panel of buttons was remarkable. She only hesitated at the white collar. Erza’s eyes held his when she removed it carefully and set it aside.

            Once free of the things that marked him as a man of the cloth, Jellal guided her to his bedroom. He didn’t even consider turning on the lights. The fire in the front room was enough for him to see the chill of the night on the skin of her arms. She turned around and pulled her hair over her shoulder. He thought he heard every tooth of the zipper release as he exposed her back inch by inch. Nine years had passed since he’d seen these parts of her but all that time collapsed in a breath when she whirled back around. Erza felt as familiar against his body as the beads of his rosary felt against the pads of his fingers.

            She fell into a mess of sheets that would soon be warm with their combined heat. Erza pushed the pants off his hips and her palms claimed every inch of his body – as if it had ever belonged to anyone else. He moved between her thighs and settled over her. Erza was decadent and lush. She was everything he’d walked away from to be a priest but it seemed there was no vow he wouldn’t violate for her. He was a human man with a heart made of flesh.

            He took her with an agonizingly slow pace. His lips found every curve and swell he’d only been allowed in his dreams. Erza whispered his name as fervently as a prayer and the blasphemy of it wasn’t lost on him – it only made their time sweeter. When had he become so gleefully, unrepentantly wicked?

            _The moment her hair slipped from the hood of her coat._

            Erza kissed him until he was sweating and out of breath. She wound her arms around his neck and crossed her ankles, trapping him between her legs. Like him, she had no words. The silence between them was delicious and thick. Tangles of her hair spread out across the pillows when he finally moved off her and brought the blankets over them. The part of him that was still nineteen and full of bright hope glowed – the rest of him that had resigned itself to priesthood was blessedly silent.

* * *

 

            The sunrise was dull and filtered by lingering clouds pregnant with snow. Jellal couldn’t even see the path he and Erza had taken from the chapel to the parsonage the night before. Everything was covered with at least four inches of winter blanket. The kettle on the stove whistled and he didn’t think twice about preparing her tea the way she used to take it.

            He found her awake in his bed but her eyes were glued to the small window. When she sat up to take the tea, she kept the sheet tucked under her arms. Her hair slipped over her shoulders and without thinking he reached out to touch it. She covered his hand with hers and set aside the teacup.

            “What will you do now?” she whispered.

            Jellal frowned. Should he offer to run away with her and start over elsewhere as a fallen priest and his lover? The silence pushed all nine years back into the space between them and he didn’t know what to say.

* * *

 

            Erza came to him often and he never turned her away. She stayed long enough to patch the holes in the fabric that held them together but never a moment longer. Maybe he was waiting for her to ask a second time. Maybe she was waiting for him.

            Jellal thought maybe he understood the concept of purgatory.


End file.
